Later that day I was outfitted, fed Liam, then watched him and little Alfred crawling around on the nursery rug, eyeing each other with interest. As I stood there my gaze was drawn to a picture on the nursery wall. It was a beautiful girl of around eight or nine, sitting on a rock beside the ocean with a shell on her lap. She was looking out to sea with wide blue eyes and her light blonde hair blew out in the breeze. She looked so ethereal that it was almost like seeing a supernatural being. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled Sid’s mention of the painter Reynold Bryce. And Daniel’s remark, “Didn’t he do all those portraits of the angelic child, copies of which now grace half the nurseries in America?”

“Is that one of Reynold Bryce’s paintings?”

Dodo looked pleased. “Why, yes. It is. Only a copy of course. The real ones are all in famous museums, but it’s so lovely, isn’t it? Cuddles’s godmother gave it to him as a christening present.”

As the dinner hour approached Dodo insisted in coming up with me to select a dress to wear for dinner and chose something grander than I’d ever have considered for myself—also with a lot more froufrou. She even insisted on lending me her pearls as they completed the outfit so well. I half expected the master of the house to query why I was wearing his wife’s dress and his wife’s pearls when I was introduced to him that evening, but he showed no indication that anything was amiss. He greeted me civilly enough and expressed condolences about my unfortunate current state, but I wondered if he had actually been consulted about my stay and would have approved of it. I definitely got the impression that he would not have been as generous with his wife’s possessions as she had been. As we sat at dinner the first question he asked was how long I thought I might be staying.

“Only until alternative arrangements can be made, Mr. Phillips,” I said.

“Where do you think you will go?” he asked.

I decided not to mention France. “My husband wants me far away from the city.”

“Very wise.” He looked relieved. “You can’t be too careful. Who would ever have thought that these ruffians would dare to strike in the middle of New York City? Too many immigrants these days, I’m afraid. And it was a mistake to admit these wilder types from Southern Europe. They don’t respect the law as we do. Brigands and cutthroats the lot of them.”